Watching
by Driven2Insanity
Summary: They can only come together for this one night, and words are inadequate.
1. Watching

It was dark in the room, but not totally black. She could tell, because she was staring up at the ceiling and counting each and every crack in the stone. If she had to guess, it was two, maybe three in the morning. She had gone to bed hours ago, but sleep was ever elusive when her mind raced.

The silence of the castle only amplified the thoughts in her head. She had her own room, as they all did, and that's where the idea originated. Ideas late at night were not usually logical, especially in her case, but who listened to logic when the body screamed for release?

She furiously tried to run through the positives and negatives of acting on her predicament, wanted to labor over each of the possible consequential outcomes. The needs of the body, however, far outweighed the mechanics of logic on this night. Mind decided, she slipped from between her blankets and headed for the bedroom door. It opened smoothly, a waft of chilly corridor air hitting her as she slipped out. Her bare feet made little sound as she padded down the hall, down to the door she knew was his.

The wards weren't particularly difficult to break. Maybe he had done so on purpose, maybe not. It wasn't something she would ask him anytime soon.

He heard her enter the room despite her stealthy movements, because he too was staring at the ceiling, watching the immovable pattern of the spider web cracks. He felt the mattress depress as she climbed beside him, and she shifted until she was comfortably lying on her side, head propped up on a hand to watch him. They didn't speak at first, preferring the gentle rhythm of their tandem breathing. Speaking would make it real.

He knew it would have to be him, and he did eventually break the silence; because he was supposed to be the responsible one, and he had so much more to lose.

"Why?"

It was anything but a simple question, for it contained more queries than either of them were willing to ask. They had decided long ago that they didn't want to know the answers, and thinking too long on it hurt their heads and their hearts. She answered the only way she could.

"You know why."

Which, of course, wasn't really an answer at all. He continued to watch the ceiling. She continued to watch him.

"We shouldn't do this," he sighed.

"I know."

It was their last night out of the country. She was his apprentice, tagging along on an international academic conference to gain experience. The week had spawned looks over cauldrons that were too long, touches when passing ingredients that were more than accidental, feelings felt between them that shouldn't have existed. The tension went miraculously unnoticed by everyone else, but it was almost palpable to them.

"This wouldn't be permanent," he warned, because he felt he had to do so.

"I know that too." He could hear the slight smile in her voice, just as he could detect the undercurrent of sadness. She wasn't an idiot. She knew what waited for him when they got home. She was his apprentice, and the fact that she was lying in his bed was already grounds for dismissal of him as a Master and professor. Once they got home, there would be no hope for another connection. They both knew this.

He finally turned on his side, facing her. Now they stared at each other; his expression as conflicted as hers was blank – something of a switch for the pair. Still, they didn't feel the need to dwell on it. Tonight was not going to be ordinary anyway. It wouldn't do any good to overanalyze.

"I should send you away." Now he sounded as though he was trying to convince himself.

"Yes," she agreed quietly.

Still, neither attempted to move.

She didn't think it would be him making the first advance, but those were his calloused fingers running lightly up and down her arm, causing her hairs to stand on end. She smiled at him gently, eyes warm now, and shivered.

It wouldn't be a frantic coupling, they could tell. It was a while before he leaned in for the first kiss, but she met him halfway. He tasted of herbs and spice. She tasted of berries.

She cupped his face in her palm, thumb caressing his high cheekbones and marveling at the unexpected softness of his skin. She slowly coaxed his lips apart and he allowed her access to the depths of his mouth, but stroked her tongue with his own. It was slow and tender, almost lazy. But exquisite.

He moved his hand to the bend of her waist, molding to its contours. The fabric of her tank top felt thin beneath his fingers, and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Running his hand over her curves, he discovered that her skin was even hotter unhindered – on her legs, for instance, bare below the line of her boy shorts. His fingers lightly made small circles on her thighs, sweeping over the curvature of her ass.

She moaned breathlessly into his mouth, pulling back a bit to gulp the air. He kissed across her cheek and nuzzled the crook of her neck, breathing hotly onto her pulse point before nipping at the skin. She responded beautifully, gasping and running her hands up his sides, taking the tee-shirt with her, exposing his skin to the slightly cooler air.

He gently shifted, rolling her onto her back and straddling her body. The shirt was pulled over his head and tossed to the floor haphazardly, and he grinned down at her with a crooked smile. The heat shone in her eyes as she looked up at him, taking in all his masculine planes and smattered scars; she lifted a hand and ran a single finger down the center of his chest. His eyes closed briefly against the sensation, enjoying the goosebumps that rippled down his body.

They continued like so for awhile, drawing out the pleasure of removing clothing, revealing skin, and exploring the flesh. They made eye contact but didn't speak – that was important. Words would ruin whatever fragile state they had come into this night.

Soon it was flesh on flesh, and the only sound in the air was that of harsh panting and an occasional moan as hands wandered. He could smell her arousal mingled with their sweat, a heady aroma. A questing hand found her open and wet, and oh-so-hot. His breath caught. She moaned aloud, writhing against his fingers; her eyes begged him to please please do _something_.

He smirked, which she was startled to see – it didn't happen often, at least not without a sneer and a harsh word. He brought his fingers, coated in her essence, to his mouth and sucked them clean, watching her expression contort into agonized pleasure as she watched him. He chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss her mouth.

They watched each other as he entered her; she was unable to hold the stare as her body arched and her eyes closed in pleasure, but he studied the look on her face in that moment and committed it to memory. Just as he was memorizing the feel of her body, the sound of her sweet gasps as he gently thrust inside, the taste of her skin and the aroma of their lovemaking.

The night seemed to last forever as they moved together, taking all the time in the world. They both knew this was the only chance to get it right. The first time she came, he captured her lips and swallowed her cries. He rarely took his eyes from her face, and she met his gaze when she could. It was difficult, though, when every caress sent shockwaves through her blood and each kiss on her skin made her moan in ecstasy.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when they finally succumbed to their joint pleasure, and the feeling of completion was more intense than what either of them had expected. The sheets were damp with sweat as he held her in his arms, begging the earth to delay its rotation just a little bit longer so he could savor the moment. She snuggled against his chest contentedly, planting a small kiss on his neck before she raised her head.

They watched each other's faces, watching the sun's glow fill the room and throw every curve and ridge into relief on their skin. He watched the way the golden light illuminated her eyes so perfectly. She watched the curve of his lips soften in the morning's rays.

"I need to go."

They were the first words that had been spoken since early that morning, and they came from her mouth. Not 'I should go' but 'I need to go.' He understood. With the rising sun came the reappearance of reality, and that reality did not see them together.

He nodded and gently kissed her before she rose to collect her nightwear. She found her tank top by the door; he found her shorts draped over the chair. They didn't speak again.

She returned to her room after a last lingering look at him, sitting against the headboard, sheets bunched low at his waist. He watched her go, trying not to look at the bittersweet smile on her face.

In separate rooms, they both watched the storm clouds riding in on the horizon of a blood-red sunrise.


	2. Fire and Ice

The water ran hotter than necessary, her skin flushing an angry red under the pounding spray. She'd been standing there for a while, as evidenced by the dense steam that filled the room. The subtle sting of the shower grounded her head, took away the edge. She did this almost every night – it had become a compulsion of sorts. And she knew why she did it, despite the excuses she made during the day. Here, though, all her defenses dropped.

She could handle the burn of the shower, because it was preferable to the burn of her body, to the burning inside her memory. She vigorously scrubbed her skin, wanting to erase the feeling of caresses and kisses. But she couldn't scrub inside her mind, couldn't forget that one night she had with him nearly a month ago. Damn it all if she didn't try, though. Anything short of a targeted Obliviate.

The burn distracted her from her thoughts as well. Otherwise she would be analyzing and overanalyzing every minute she spent in his presence, stealing looks when he wasn't looking, and finding excuses to speak to him, just to hear him reply. It was the only way he would speak to her at all these days, and hell would freeze before he looked at her again. She viciously wished to look into his eyes, but then she might kiss him again. They both knew it couldn't happen. Their careful dynamic had changed, somehow, and she mourned it.

Her hand inched the knob further into the red.

* * *

The water was freezing. He grit his teeth against the cold, ignoring the way his skin prickled with gooseflesh. He hadn't been there long, but he would wait. The sharp shock of cold took away the edge – and the responses of his body. He had taken to these showers two, sometimes three times a day. He knew why he needed them, too, when his stubbornness faded to weariness and he admitted his vice.

He dealt with the ice water, because it forced his body to slow and it was preferable to the ever-present burning under his skin. He stood under the water, palms flat against the wall and head down, wanting the memories to run down the drain. They never did, though. Not for lack of trying, of course. He was _this close_ to paying for a targeted Obliviate. Anything to erase the recollections of her body.

The cold distracted him, so that he didn't have to think about _her_. He saw her gazing at him, sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking. The fact that he was an ex-spy had apparently slipped her mind somewhere along the way. He answered her when she asked a question, but he couldn't speak to her outside of the academic parameters – he would say something stupid. Like how much he'd like to kiss her again. He didn't look at her either, or he'd do something equally as stupid – like actually kiss her again. Their tentative friendship would never be the same again. He hated it.

His hand pushed the knob further into the blue.

* * *

AN: Just a little drabbling after all the enthusiasm from the original chapter. Will there be more to come? …It's quite possible. Maybe if I got some reviews….


	3. The Space Between

Her shirt stuck to her back as she stood back, awaiting his analysis of her freshly brewed potion. She wiped her hand across her forehead, pushing the loose wisps of hair out of her face. He silently peered into her cauldron, scooping a sample into a flask. Holding it up to the light, he tilted it this way and that before finally giving a nod.

"Acceptable," he said without looking her way. She sighed. 'Acceptable' meant 'nearly perfect' to him, but he would never give a positive word to her even if she tortured it out of him. And again, their collaborative hours had passed without making even a passing glance of eye contact. He really was a stubborn bastard. Then again… wasn't she as well? Stubborn, that is. "You are dismissed," he spoke sharply, breaking her from her seething. Gritting her teeth, she turned on her heel and headed out the door without as much as a glance his way.

So engrossed was she in her racing thoughts and the promise of a hot bath that she was halfway to her room before she realized that she had neglected to grab her bag in her angry retreat.

"Damn," she muttered, changing direction. She wouldn't have gone back if not for the beginnings of her thesis project stowed away between the pages of her book, but she had wanted to take a few more notes in the library the next morning. With a sigh, she descended back to the dungeons. Hoping he hadn't warded the door when he left, she gently tested the handle and, finding it unlocked, pushed her way inside.

She froze just inside the door, swallowing a gasp. He hadn't left after all, but was leaning against the edge of his desk, billowing robes open and trousers around his knees. He had a hand fisted around himself and his head was tilted back a bit, eyes closed, mouth slack with pleasure. He didn't see her standing there as her eyes swept over his body.

She drank him in: the image of his face, the sounds of his shallow panting, his hand and those long fingers (oh gods) wrapped around his cock. He had perfectly abandoned control in her absence, and she loved seeing him without the calculated preciseness of everything he did. His wrist twisted particularly violently, and a moan escaped his lips. A smile crept across her face – she didn't remember him being very vocal, but she found that she very much liked it. Heat pooled in her core, and she relaxed against the doorframe to watch his performance.

His eyes shut tightly as he desperately tried to escape the reality of his situation. He hated the girl, but not nearly as much as he wanted her. He hated the way that little white blouse clung to her curves when she sweat over the day's assignment, hated the hair that reminded him of a certain morning after a very satisfying night, hated that she was _so damn close_ and he couldn't touch her. And when she left his classroom, eyes bright with frustration and face flushed, he couldn't help but succumb to thoughts of their night together, of how she looked every day as his apprentice, of how she would sound if he were to damn all the rules to hell and take her on his desk, how he would make her shriek his name over and over until he had burned himself into her body and her mind…. He groaned to the (so-he-thought) empty classroom.

Mischief and desire danced in her heated eyes as he continued to stroke himself. She could discern no apparent pattern between the twists, the pulls, and the squeezes, but she did note which movements made his face scrunch, made his other hand grip the desk, made the moans more audible and his breaths more ragged. She would have sworn that he spoke (or swore) a time or two, but his utterances were so soft that the words were lost her.

The purple head wept precum to the floor as his hand pumped; her tongue darted out to run across her lips and she swallowed as she watched a drop descend to the stones. Her skin felt hot and itchy, the feeling that drove her to scalding water in the shower. The warmth at her core intensified, almost drawing a moan from her own throat – she bit her bottom lip to keep the sound from escaping, and her fingers started drawing mindless circles on the overheated skin of her thighs. She found herself wishing that they were his fingers on her body and her hands on him as a sigh dropped from his lips from across the room.

_He had stopped her before she left the room, pinning her to the door before she could leave… His lips ravaged hers, pouring all his pent-up tension and desire into the kiss as he took her hands in his and trapped them above her head… She yielded to him beautifully, arching herself into his body, showing him that her longing was just as powerful as his… He would not be forced to wait another moment, and then her skirt would go up, her panties would go down, his fingers would explore…_

A thrill went through him and he gasped aloud, his fingers tightening just a second before lightning shot down his spine. His eyes flew open and he saw her, and she saw him, and they locked eyes across the room even as his seed shot from his body in spurts and his breathing all but ceased in combined pleasure and shock. His mind couldn't properly process what he was seeing, and as the last jolt of ecstasy overtook him his eyes closed; when he was spent he opened them.

He was alone.

* * *

She ran through the corridors, ignoring everyone. Her room had never seemed so far away, and her hands trembled as she struggled through her wards. Once inside, she locked and silenced the room quickly before throwing off her clothes and vaulting into her bed. The image in her mind fueled the fire in her body and she reached her completion within a few short minutes. Her cry filled the room and had she been thinking more clearly she might have registered a name that accompanied the sound… but who could think clearly at a time like that? She panted heavily as she came down from her high, staring holes into the ceiling.

It was then that she began to suspect that she was in more trouble than she realized.

* * *

A/N: Hot damn. Popular story much? I had over a thousand hits after my last chapter. WOW! Many cookies to everyone who has read, favorited, and/or commented on 'Watching' so far. My mind is racing with the possibilities…

No, this will not be much longer, maybe two or three chapters at most, but I do have some interesting ideas stirring around. After all, they can't keep this tension bottled up forever... Those ideas might even get to my computer, if I feel the love of reviews… like my shamelessness?


	4. Distracted

The potions lab was hot – again – and she absentmindedly ran her finger down the page as she attempted to pinpoint the next ingredient. The potion he had assigned to her today was volatile at best, and required utmost concentration on behalf of the brewer. Unfortunately, ever since that last night of the conference, her focus in his presence had been less-than-stellar – unless she happened to be focusing on the dexterity of his fingers, his smooth voice as he gave her sparse instruction, or the memory of their last encounter – a train of thought sure to destroy her focus and raise her blood pressure.

He was rigidly sitting in his chair, marking second-year essays with vengeance. Every minute or so, of their own accord, his eyes would shift to his apprentice as she hovered over her cauldron. Then he would curse himself and return to the essays, very nearly stabbing through the parchment in frustration. The aftermath of their last instructive session kept flashing in his mind, causing his temperature to soar (and it had nothing to do with the heat of the room) and his concentration to wane. Damn the chit, because it was her fault that he could ever become so unhinged at the sight of someone. He knew he should be keeping a more careful eye on her brewing – the potion was remarkably unstable until the finished product had been procured – but he doubted that he would be much help if he had to look at her, and she would think he was watching her like she watched him. So he simply sat at his desk, furiously slashing red across rolls of parchment.

The blood-red potion reached a simmer over the flame, and she reached for the next ingredient – 'to be crushed between the palms and sprinkled evenly in the brew.' She grabbed the leaves and positioned her gloved hands over the solution, furtively casting a glance toward the front of the laboratory. He wasn't looking – again – and a sigh escaped her lips as her grip went slack. Almost as soon as the plant fell from her fingers she gasped, and when the first leaf tip touched the potion it all went wrong.

The liquid immediately shifted to a frothing, dark mixture, looking as dangerous as the textbook had warned. A mini-explosion seemed to occur just under the surface, and a jet of the potion shot above the cauldron to drench her hands. She cried out in pain.

The entire disaster happened so suddenly that he didn't even know something had gone awry until he heard her whimper; he lifted his head quickly – he heard his bones crackle, but dismissed it – and took in the scene all at once. Reacting on instinct, he whipped his wand out from his sleeve and first cast a stasis spell on the potion, shortly followed by Banishing the mess. He hurried to her side, scowling at her groan of pain. She was cradling her hands close to her chest, the damage masked by the folds of her robe; tears were slowly making their way down her face and he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

He spoke her name softly and she looked up without thinking. Honey eyes met his indecipherable gaze and they both caught their breath after weeks of avoiding looks from the other. Slowly, he reached out and touched her elbow, coaxing her hands out into proper light. She bit her lip and he swore when he saw the true extent of her injury.

"Luckily, you are intelligent enough to have worn your gloves," he said quietly, the usual bite absent from his words as he inspected her hands. The gloves themselves were charred, and her hands were clasped together… permanently, for the time being. The potion had eaten away at the dragonhide, but hadn't touched her skin. The main damage to her flesh was from the burns.

He sighed and guided her into the nearest chair. "Wait here."

"Shouldn't…" her voice trembled, "shouldn't I go to the hospital wing?"

"I'd rather take care of your injuries now, unless you prefer the burn scars," he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. He'd nearly forgotten how wonderful her voice sounded, even when in pain. He wished there to be a simple solution to her injuries, but it simply wasn't so.

"Oh," she whispered, nodding her head.

He wasn't gone long, returning with burn salve and another potion she didn't recognize, along with a knife small enough to be compared to a Muggle scalpel. She would have raised an eyebrow if she hadn't been focused on staying conscious. The feeling of dragonhide melted into her skin wasn't a pleasant one, and the pain on top of it was making her head spin.

"I cannot fix this by magic," he informed her as he knelt before her. "The potion may still be reactive to anything used to treat, and I cannot assess the burn until I can see it properly. Do you understand?"

She gave a small nod, watching him with pained eyes.

He took a deep breath. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she replied without hesitation. It made his stomach leap, but he only nodded, expression unreadable, and reached for the scalpel-like knife.

"This will hurt," he said.

She shivered as the blade tip touched her skin near her wrist. Separating her hands from each other was the first priority, so that he could examine her burns and determine if anything more than the burn salve would be needed. She whimpered several times as he painstakingly cut through the fused dragonhide, careful not to take off layers of skin as he worked. His brow furrowed in concentration and he would stop as soon as she made a noise, watching her face for anything more than the expected hurt from the sting. She would force a tight smile and nod slightly, encouraging him to go on cutting.

It took longer than he would have liked, but her hands were finally two separate extremities. He held one of her hands in his and leaned closer to inspect the burns. She bit her lip as his warm breath floated across her flayed skin, her eyes briefly fluttering closed. It was difficult to pinpoint if that was from the sensation or the pain. Thankfully, her palms seemed to have suffered only superficial damage, and the burn salve would be sufficient. He offered her the potion she hadn't recognized.

"It's a type of antibiotic," he explained at her questioning look. "It is necessary to ensure that any residuals from the potion that might have entered your bloodstream are neutralized. Healing your burns, but allowing possible poisons to rampage through your body would be a rather dunderhead move… and a dunderhead I am not."

She let a small smile slip onto her face, appreciating his efforts to put her at ease. The tangy-tasting potion went down without difficulty, and he coated his fingers in burn salve before reaching for her hand again.

The feel of his fingertips fairly dancing over her palms shouldn't have felt so thrilling, yet she exhaled softly at his touch. The gentle sweeping of his strokes were gentle, a stark contrast to the calluses roughening his skin. Orange burn salve coated her skin by fingers that caressed, and her breath was becoming shallower with every second he continued to touch her. He seemed transfixed on her injured hands, determined not to meet her eyes.

Between them, her skin was smoothing over muscles and fading to its normal, slightly tanned color, leaving her just as unmarred as before the accident. She flexed her fingers experimentally, pleased when she felt no residual pain. He was still stroking her palm, his thumb rubbing circles over her wrist. A shaky breath escaped her lips and he looked up.

"Does that hurt?" he said softly, eyes mesmerizing in the partial darkness.

She shook her head. "No," she managed to choke out.

He nodded, slowly dropping her hands and letting his fingers brush over her skin as they fell to her lap. "You'll be fine."

_Not around you, I won't be_, she thought, biting her lip.

"Do I distract you that much?" he wondered, a teasing edge to his voice, along with something rougher and darker.

She swore inside her mind, not having meant to speak the words aloud. Her gaze quickly dropped, lest he resort to entering her mind in search of his answers. He spoke her name, but she resisted the urge to meet his eyes.

He sighed and she felt his lips ghost over her forehead.

"I expect to see you back here tomorrow evening," he said, slightly more stern, but she heard the undertone of concern. "We'll continue our work, and do try to keep your mind focused next time."

She nodded and stood, grabbing her bag and heading for the door. He stared after her thoughtfully, leaning back against a desk.

As she headed up the stairs into the warmth, greeted by the smell of rain in the air, her skin tingled where his lips had touched her.

Keep her mind focused, he had said.

She was so screwed.


	5. The Only Way

He sat at his desk, eyes staring blankly at the door and waiting for the knock that would be coming at any moment. She was always punctual, of course. He wasn't looking forward to the conversation that was to follow, but it was necessary. He had been searching the depths of his mind for a week, ever since her accident, but had been unable to come up with an alternative to the plan he had finally settled on. The only question remaining was whether or not she would agree to it. He was almost certain that, given a rational explanation and with the beauty of logic, she would understand the circumstances and see that his plan was indeed the best for them both (for the time being). However, it was that 'almost' part that gave him pause.

The knock he had been expecting - and partially dreading - sounded in the office and he automatically glanced up at the clock. Exactly to the minute, just as he had suspected. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth momentarily, but he remembered what was coming and abruptly cleared any mirth from his face. He allowed himself a small sigh.

"Enter."

She cautiously opened the door and peered within, her expression pleasant but puzzled. He had never requested her to his private office during the hours of her apprenticeship. A part of her dared to hope that he was intent on a repeat of the conference, but a larger, more sane part knew that he would never consent to such actions while their contract was still in effect. Despite the popular thought, he had much more integrity than he was given credit for. And so she settled for confusion as she entered the office, though the silencing and locking spells he placed on the door did pique her interest.

"Sit."

She moved toward the lone chair in front of the Potion Master's desk, her eyes burning with curiosity and staring deep into his. A fleeting desperate desire to know Legilimency flared, but she just held his gaze as she dropped into her seat. He stayed out of her mind, wary of what he would see and not ready to face those realities.

"Professor?" Her voice pulled him from his internal conflict, and he felt that smirk at the edge of his lips again - she never could stay silent for long, not when questions in her head begged to be asked. "Why are we meeting here tonight? Aren't there more potions on the curriculum list that I need to complete?"

He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. "Tonight, you are to use my name. My _given_ name," he added, seeing the look on her face. It was torn between delight and trepidation. "Yes, more potions must be brewed before you complete your apprenticeship. But you knew that," he said, studying her face.

She nodded her head slowly. She said his name softly, just to try out the letters on her tongue, and he closed his eyes briefly at the sound. "You have an ... ulterior motive?" she wondered, her palms beginning to sweat.

"Well," he permitted a smirk, "what sort of Slytherin would I be if I didn't?" He became serious once more, however, and looked across at her solemnly. "Last week, you put yourself in danger because of your lack of attention to the task at hand. Do you disagree?"

Her eyes darted to the floor. The conversation had suddenly taken a turn away from what she had hoped. She shook her head, eyes bright. "No, sir, I do not."

"My given name," he reminded her gently, "tonight, in this room." He swallowed and forced himself to look at her face as he spoke his thoughts. "You understand I cannot let you continue to practice Potions under my guidance."

_What_?

Her head whipped up so fast he feared for her neck, but it was her expression that really made his stomach sink. She might as well have had her world ripped out from under her, and the tears were already making their tracks down her face. He didn't ... _want_ her anymore? He could see the insecurities screaming in her eyes, and raised a hand to stop the questions ready to pour from her mouth. She managed to get one out, though.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered.

"Will you allow me to explain without interrupting me with a question every five seconds?" he asked, adding a teasing edge to his voice in hopes of relaxing her.

She bit her lip and nodded, her hands twisting in her lap as she stared at him, beseeching him to tell her that of course he wanted her. He inhaled a deep breath. This is where the logic would be played, and he could only trust that she was listening with more than her heart (for, he suspected, that's what she had been thinking with for quite some time now).

"I'm a distraction to you, and that places us both in danger. Potion brewing requires the utmost concentration, and when we're in the same room that seems to be a problem ... on both ends," he admitted. Triumph flashed in her eyes, but disappeared just as quickly. "Therefore, it would be unwise for us to continue in the same way, with you under my tutelage. Not if you wish to become a Potions Mistress within the anticipated timeline."

"So I have to find another Potion Master willing to give me an apprenticeship that's already halfway done?" she said, a bite to her words. "I expect you'll help me achieve the impossible, then."

He hesitated, standing and going to the other side of the desk, leaning back against it to keep some illusion of distance between them. "I believe I've come up with an alternative. But," he held up a hand again, stopping the grin that spread across her face, "I don't think you're going to like it."

"I'll still be your apprentice, though?" He hated the barely-contained excitement she was showing.

"Yes," he sighed.

"Let me hear it, then," she demanded, eyes determined again. Anything if she could only be close to him for a few more months.

Her internal fire could never be dampened for long, he thought with dry amusement. "I will take and preserve your memories of us and then modify your memory, erasing them completely," he said in a rush, staring at some fixed point on the wall behind her head. He couldn't stand to look at her. Knowing that this was their best option made him feel worse than any time he had spent in his former Master's service.

She was silent for the longest time, and he began to fear that she had gone mute from shock. He risked a glance down; her eyes were unfocused and a slight frown wrinkled her forehead, and her teeth were biting at her bottom lip again. He knew that look, and it eased his reservations because that was the expression she had when she was deeply immersed in a problem she was determined to solve. He watched her work through all the potential consequences and pitfalls; possibilities that he had worked through himself a million times.

"You would take the memories that I have of us..." she finally spoke, meeting his eyes for the first time since his proclamation.

He nodded. "I'll save them. When your apprenticeship is over, you'll get them back and we can explore... whatever it is we started."

"Everything would be gone?"

"Your feelings. All that led up to that night at the convention. That night itself. The potions accident." He nodded jerkily. "Like it never happened."

"Like it never happened..." she repeated softly. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to imagine her life without his influence and what she felt towards him. His touch on her shoulder startled her and she opened her eyes to find him kneeling before her, eyes level with each other.

"I swear to you - I will make an Unbreakable Vow if you wish it - I swear that I will restore your memories the moment your apprenticeship is complete, and your mind will not be damaged in any way."

She smiled sadly. "It never crossed my thoughts," she assured him. Another swoop in his abdomen - she trusted him without even having his word on it. "I know it's silly to ask..." she searched his eyes, "but you've thought through every other possibility? There's nothing else for us to do?"

He shook his head solemnly, standing and running a hand over his face. "Not if you want us to continue as Master and apprentice."

"I thought as much," she sighed resignedly. "I can't come up with anything else either." She gave a short laugh, "I guess that what makes us so in sync with each other," she offered up a shot at humor.

"Indeed," he allowed himself a slight smirk in return.

She shrugged helplessly. "So, when did you want to...?"

"Tonight," he said with as much neutrality as possible.

Her eyes widened. "Now?"

He nodded gravely. "If we can."

Silence echoed in the office. She wasn't ready for this. How could he just erase everything they had and then expect nothing to have changed when she got her memories back? How could she allow herself to willingly give up those memories? She closed her eyes briefly and imagined the feel of his skin under hers, muscles rippling at her touch.

He wasn't ready for this. It was one thing to plan for something like this, but completely different to actually go through with it. Her depth of trust in him was unimaginable. But how would he feel? Seeing her every day, knowing how her toes curled when he touched her _just there_... he wasn't sure how he'd be able to handle himself for the next few months.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly.

She looked up at him, her eyes unnaturally bright. "Almost." She stood and crossed the short distance between them until she could touch his arm. "Kiss me," she breathed. "Please, kiss me, and make it the first thing I have when I get my memories back."

His lips crashed to hers as they gave in to their desires. She reached up, clutching at his hair and dragging her nails over his scalp. The edge of pain, riding their passion, raced up his spine and he groaned into her mouth. He kissed her like he was trying to climb inside her, as though he could imprint himself into her mind regardless of any memory charm. She pressed into him, soft curves into hard masculinity, seemingly to mold their two bodies into one. It was a ravaging kiss, yet the tenderness underlying their touches couldn't be mistaken. He finally tasted salt and drew back, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes against her tears.

"If there was any other way..." he whispered raggedly.

"I know," she breathed, but a sob tore from her chest anyway.

* * *

Silver strands dangled from his wand tip before slowly dropping into the strange substance of the Pensieve. She watched as her memories were pulled from her head and siphoned into the basin, eyes red but no longer wet. Everything they had shared, everything she had felt... stored away and gone. The last strand, burning with the intensity of thought, fell into the liquid - or was it a gas? - and he watched their fierce embrace for a moment before turning from the Pensieve.

She sat in his chair, behind the desk, looking up at him with wide eyes, but steeled with Gryffindor courage. Her hands curled over the armchairs to stop their shaking. She nodded once.

"Do it."

He braced himself and raised his wand, pointing the tip directly between her eyes. A hollow feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he whispered the spell and delved into her mind. Slowly, methodically, he scoured the very edges of her thoughts. Every memory or thought he came across - anything that echoed with feelings besides professionalism or harbored dislike - was removed and wiped from her mind.

The whole Obliviation process didn't take too long, but he was thorough and felt drained when he was finished. His head throbbed as he struggled to absorb all that he had seen... and the emotion behind them. When he gave her back her memories, they would need to have a long conversation. But for now... He lowered his wand at last and looked into her glazed eyes, lacking their usual vibrancy. As he watched, the awareness slowly crept into the hazel orbs.

She looked around the office, bewildered. "Professor?" She shook her head as though trying to clear the fuzziness in her head. "What's going on?"

"There was an incident in the lab," he replied silkily, forcing his tone to remain professional. "You lost consciousness for a time, but you should be just fine after a night of rest."

"Oh." She shakily got to her feet, still looking around in confusion. "Thank you, Professor."

"Indeed." He did not look at her. "Be sure to show up on time tomorrow, if you please."

She nodded, grabbing her back and heading toward the door. "Of course. See you tomorrow, sir!" She sounded much steadier and confident now.

He stared at the door long after she had gone. He had taken her memories from her, yes... but he still had his. And they hovered dangerously close to the front of his mind. He collapsed into his chair and dropped his head into his hands.

It was going to be a long year.

* * *

A/N: Yes, this is later than I had intended to publish. Shockingly, life got in the way. Still, hopefully this makes up for it... Show your appreciation by reviews!


	6. Waiting

**Fall**

The start of term arrived too quickly for his liking, but at least it offered a distraction. The gentle breezes of summer gave way to the changing of the leaves, green into orange, red, yellow, and he fell into a familiar routine with his apprentice. After classes finished for the day (and he was finally free of dunderheads with no desire for knowledge) she would come down to the laboratory. He would greet her politely and shove away the urge to ravish her on the nearest worktable; she would reply cheerfully and inquire about his day. Sometimes he was honest, sometimes he was snarky, but she would always counter with a smile. He supposed she was far too used to his sharp tongue for it to do her any harm. She would then set about her potion for the day, concentrating intently on the instructions and procedures. He, in turn, would mark abysmal essays with scorching red or catch up on the latest journals. He often found himself staring at the pages without reading, his mind drifting to thoughts of _her_. He forced himself not to stare in her presence; now that their relationship had returned to a strictly platonic interaction, it would be unseemly for him to be caught compromising his morals.

And this continued. He allowed her a free evening for her birthday in September, and the brilliant smile on her face made his stomach rise to his throat. He caught a glimpse of her before dinner that night, in the company of Sidekicks #1 and #2, leaving the castle in a beautiful silver dress and a laugh on her mouth. He had waited up for her to return (although he rationalized this as extra patrols), and only after she had disappeared into her rooms had he retired as well. The next day he offhandedly asked about her night and rather wished he didn't, as he was then subjected to numerous mundane details about her friends' lives that he didn't care for. But it was hard to feel truly hostile with her voice happily filling the dungeon.

She excelled in her potion preparations, now that she wasn't thoroughly distracted every time she entered the laboratory. He, being used to compartmentalizing, saved his frustrations for his private rooms under his covers and the cover of darkness. It was highly annoying to admit that he missed her company and the conversations they had. They made a little small talk, but it had none of the easygoing ambiance from before, and the topics of conversation stuck strictly to the realm of potions. When she challenged him, it was a serious inquiry with none of the teasing lilt.

Halloween swept in on the bitter edge of a winter wind. He offered her the night off then as well - rumor was Harry bloody Potter would be stopping by Hogwarts to join students in the feast. Hermione declined, though, insisting that their current potion was significantly more important than seeing her best friend for the second time in as many months. So they skipped the feast - he had a selection of the meal brought down to the lab by a house elf; they ate by the light of fire glowing beneath the cauldrons. And when she left, he could pretend that she was still there, and he would take her back to his rooms, to his bed, and finish the night off right...

But she wasn't, and he didn't.

**Winter**

A cold wind swirled over the grounds near the tail end of term. Students and professors alike layered up, the fires were warmer than usual, and urns of hot chocolate joined the tables at dinner. The dungeons felt near unbearable, and even he himself admitted defeat, casting a surreptitious charm over the classroom so his charges didn't freeze to death.

Snow fell the day before the castle emptied for the holidays. No one's mind was much focused on their studies, but he kept them for the entirety of the lesson (knowing, he acknowledged with resignation, that he would have to teach the same lesson again when January rolled around). He was more than happy to see the students load onto the train, reveling in thoughts of an empty castle and minute social interaction.

She stayed, though. Muttered something about the potion they were formulating, but he could see through her lies. Her only alternative was one of two households in the far-flung countryside, and both would be filled with equal parts grief and joy. He couldn't blame her, really - who'd want to be surrounded by that for a week straight? So they worked together over cauldrons, exchanging pleasantries and nothing more, just like always.

Christmas was naught of significance; he dragged himself down to the small feast in the Great Hall for dinner, if only to see her face and her smile. After dessert, he unobtrusively slipped a wrapped package next to her arm as he passed her seat. She looked surprised, eyes wide and pink tingeing her cheeks. The next day she gave him a shy smile, opening her new lab journal to its first blank page. He didn't comment on the fact that he'd received nothing from her - he had no expectations.

It came as a pleasant surprise, then, when he walked into the lab on the morn of January 9 and spotted a brand new set of crystal vials, pristinely tied with a scarlet bow. He smirked at that.

Gryffindors.

**Spring**

The first buds of life made an appearance in early April - shortly followed by a downpour of English rain that darkened the skies and transformed the grounds into a giant mudpit. Filch was heard screaming at students tracking mud through the entrance hall, his grainy voice echoing down the corridors.

It was shortly after this that he began to notice her cutting her evenings short. Her work was still above par, but she simply wasn't putting in as many hours. Often she skipped dinner and he wouldn't see her for the rest of the night. Then, she requested an entire weekend off. He had rebuked her at once and it turned into a shouting match until she wore him down to a two-day weekend work-free. He felt like a fool; all she had to do was ask (or shout) and he would give her the world.

But it wasn't as if she knew that.

The free Friday she had asked for rolled around and he strategically hid himself in an alcove down the hall from her room, concealed by a Disillusion charm. At six (on the dot, he noted), a young man strode the corridor and sharply rapped on her door. Almost immediately she appeared in the door, with a smile that made his heart drop. That was _his_ smile, the one that burned him from the inside out. His hands clenched into fists when they passed him, chatting about some mundane plans the young man had made for the weekend.

A few breakable objects spent time being abused once he got back to his room, the broken shards glittering on the floor. The storm raging inside him was breathtaking. He paced the stones furiously, gritting his teeth together. How dare she. How _dare_ she! Didn't she know about the plans he had for them? The many nights he spent imagining them together at last, lips and bodies melding as one? His thoughts of her, simply curled up and reading on their bed in the evenings?

No.

She didn't know. Of course she didn't. He'd taken very painstaking measures to ensure that she wouldn't remember, wouldn't know, wouldn't imagine like he did. In all the possible scenarios he'd foreseen, it hadn't even crossed his mind that she would fall for someone else. She was his, and he was hers. Didn't she _know...?_

His train of thought led him to the inevitable conclusion: a two-day weekend could only mean one thing. She wasn't his anymore. He was not the only one who would know her body, know where to touch and where to kiss and how she breathed in the darkness. More glass hit the walls, splintering into a million irreparable pieces.

That night, his bed had never felt colder.

**Summer**

The arrival of the summer solstice was bittersweet. The students of Hogwarts emptied from the corridors, their gleeful laughter echoing over the grounds as the scarlet train arrived to take them back to London. He paced the dungeons, brooding, his fingers often rolling around a vial of silvery memories. She would be leaving within the next month or so, after the successful completion of her apprenticeship, following her ceremony. It felt like his last chance - to let her know how he felt, what he wanted, what they had shared. A small sliver of him doubted, though. She had her new bloke, and she seemed happy. Who was he to spoil that for her?

But he was selfish, and he wouldn't pretend otherwise. So when the day of her "graduation" arrived, he showed up to the ceremony in prestigious black robes, her memories stowed in his pocket. There she was, right in the front, looking every bit the woman he knew her to be. Her hair was curled on top of her head, and she wore no makeup save her natural radiance. His throat constricted when he looked at her - if none of this worked out, he feared he'd never recover. It certainly didn't help when he glanced a few rows back and saw her "friend" sitting near the aisle, looking every bit as happy as she.

The ceremony seemed to pass in a blur. Each of the apprentices was recognized by their mentor and joined them on stage to receive their certificate of completion. Too soon, the time had arrived for her turn. His throat was dry as he called her up, and when she ascended the stairs his hands trembled ever-so-slightly. She beamed as she approached him, and he fought to control his breathing with every step she took.

When she reached him, he gave her the rarest of smiles that only she could see. "Congratulations," he murmured, ignoring the surprise on her face. "You've surpassed every expectation anyone ever had of you."

"I had an excellent teacher," she replied, just as softly.

"Indeed." He passed the rolled parchment into her extended hand, and as she moved to pass him he grabbed her free hand and drew her close. He paused, inhaling the scent of her hair. "I wish for your future to hold all the happiness you deserve."

She looked him full in the face, confusion etched on her features. He pressed the vial into her palm. "Go on," he whispered, giving her a gentle push.

She left him, seemingly dazed by his actions. He adopted the stoic persona he was known for, even as she reached the man in the audience. The younger mad immediately pulled her into a hug, which caused her laugh to ring out over the crowd.

He slipped out of the Great Hall like a shadow, his footsteps heavy as he headed toward the lake. There was only one thing he could do now.

Wait.

* * *

Oh hai. I haven't forgotten this story or my wonderful readers, but college + work leaves little time for pleasure writing. Luckily, I have two weeks of vacation ahead of me. Hopefully I'll be getting the last chapter up before the end of those two weeks. Sooner rather than later, should I receive some reviews...


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